Complements
by onceinabluemoon0013
Summary: Originally a one-shot, this is now a collection of Sherlolly drabbles! Ch. 25: Sherlock surprises Molly on Christmas.
1. Chapter 1: Complementary

**I originally posted this drabble on Tumblr yesterday, but I love it so much I wanted to post it here as well. I have edited and expanded it a little from my original post. This is what happened when I stayed up too late studying for my molecular biology exam. I hope you enjoy this! I was giggling like a little girl the entire time I was writing it.**

* * *

_Come to Baker Street immediately. – SH _

_Please. – SH._

_It is important. – SH _

Molly stared down at her phone and sighed. She had been looking forward to spending a quiet night with Toby in front of the television. _Oh well_, she thought. She could not deny that she was excited to see Sherlock. Although they had been together for almost two years, a high-profile kidnapping had kept them apart for the past week and a half. She missed him. Maybe he had finally solved the case.

She hung her lab coat by the door and walked out to the street, hailing a cab and directing the driver to 221 Baker Street. She would find out what he needed, and then perhaps she could convince him to take her out to dinner. Their anniversary was fast approaching, after all.

When they arrived at the flat, she quickly paid and stepped out. Mrs. Hudson quickly answered her knock and directed her upstairs. "Up you go, Molly. Mustn't keep him waiting!" the older woman declared, a giddy smile on her face.

Molly burrowed her brow in confusion as she hurried up the steps. The door was unlocked, and she hesitantly walked inside. "Sherlock?" she called out. The flat was dark, and she was reaching for the light when she noticed him. "Is the case finished? What is going on?"

The man in question stood by the window, bathed in moonlight. She was once again struck by his beauty, and briefly wondered how she was lucky enough to have won his heart.

He turned and gazed at her, adoration evident in his fathomless blue eyes. He slowly walked towards her before grabbing both of her hands in his larger ones and intertwining their fingers.

She had never seen him so exposed, except when he had asked for her help in faking his death. He appeared as though he needed to confess something but was lost for words. She smiled encouragingly up at him, squeezing his hands in reassurance.

Finally, he sighed and stared into her eyes. "Molly, as you very well know, DNA is a nucleic acid comprised of a sugar-phosphate backbone, as well as a combination of only four bases. The two strands are linked via hydrogen bonding. Adenine always pairs with thymine, and guanine always pairs with cytosine."

Well, that was not what she was expecting. At all. She shook her head in bewilderment. "Sherlock, I –."

"Please, Molly, let me finish," he interrupted. At her nod, he continued. "Because of this, every strand of DNA has a complement. There are over 3 billion base pairs in the human genome, but those two strands are perfectly suited for each other." She began to understand what he was trying to say and felt tears well up in her eyes.

"For too many years, I was content to live my life as a single strand of DNA, mocking others who had paired off. Emotional attachments were worthless, and my time was better spent investigating murders and performing experiments. But then, seven years ago, I marched into your morgue, demanding to see the body of George White. Do you remember?"

"Of course, I do, Sherlock," she answered quietly, afraid to ruin the moment. He gulped, taking a deep breath and continued.

"Although I did not realize it then, that moment changed my life. It did not occur to me until I left to destroy Moriarty's network that my feelings for you were more than platonic friendship. I found myself thinking about you more than I cared to admit, wondering if you were waiting for me to come back or if you had already moved on."

He stopped again, contemplating his next words. "I am so fortunate to have found you, Molly Hooper. You are my complementary DNA strand, designed just for me." He reached into his suit pocket and retrieved a small black box. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

The tears were falling freely now, as she gaped at the man she loved. Only Sherlock could turn molecular biology into a marriage proposal. Without replying, she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him down to press her mouth to his. She kissed him furiously, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips. She felt him grip her waist, wanting to bring her as close as humanly possible.

She finally pulled away, barely a millimeter separating their faces, and looked at him. "I love you." She said it simply. It was the only possible answer. He beamed at her, his expression the happiest she had ever seen. He opened the box (she had forgotten about the ring in her excitement) and drew out an exquisite gold band, with a simple sapphire adorning it, flanked by two diamonds on either side.

"Do you like it? It was my mother's."

Her hands flew to her mouth as she gazed at her fiancé. "Sherlock! It's beautiful!" He slid it on her left ring finger, flinging the box over his shoulder before grinning and kissing her once more.

* * *

John Watson awoke to the sound of a small ping coming from the mobile phone on his bedside table. Mary watched as he read the message and laughed in amusement before tapping him on the shoulder. "What is it?"

"It worked. His ridiculous speech worked! I guess those two really are made for each other…." John shook his head in bewilderment and set his phone back on the table. "It looks like we have another wedding to plan." He kissed his wife's smiling mouth and curled back under the sheets.

* * *

**I could just see John's reaction to Sherlock's proposal, so I had to add that last little scene at the end. On a side note, if I convince a guy to propose to me, I might be just a little disappointed if it doesn't happen like this. ;) Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2: Italy

**So, I have decided to turn this into a collection of drabbles, mostly prompts I have filled on my Tumblr (onceinabluemoon13). I doubt I will be posting all of my prompt fills on here, but who knows? **

**This was a fill for an Anon who wanted a story about Sherlock and Molly running into each other in Italy. I really like this one.**

* * *

Sherlock stops and looks around frantically. He is chasing the last of Moriarty's lieutenants, Sebastian Moran, when the man dashes into the center of the crowded square surrounding the Fontana di Trevi. Sherlock curses internally when he realizes he has lost sight of the mercenary. He is so close to finishing this.

He continues searching, twisting his head every which way, when a lone figure, standing on the edge of the throng of tourists, catches his attention.

He has not seen her in nearly three years, ever since he disappeared from her flat in the middle of the night. He observes her for a moment, taking in the sight of the woman who had saved his life.

She is wearing a mint green dress patterned with flowers, hair flowing loosely around her shoulders and white sandals adorning her feet. She smiles to herself as she reads a page out of her book, likely about the history of Rome and the fountain between them.

This image of Molly Hooper contrasts sharply with the one in his mind, the one that comes unbidden to him when he thinks of London and everything that awaits him there. The Molly in his mind palace wears frumpy cherry jumpers and sterile white lab coats. She always carries a cup of coffee in her hands as she attempts to entertain him with one of her morbid jokes. She is not sensual or overtly stunning, but she has a quiet grace that Sherlock appreciates and can occasionally admit he finds mildly attractive.

The Molly Hooper he gazes at now can only be described as _beautiful_. She seems so peaceful and content, and Sherlock feels his mind calm in result to her presence, even if she is unaware of his.

Suddenly, she turns her head slightly to the left, as if she can sense his eyes on her. Meeting his stare, her mouth drops open in surprise before she releases her book and scrambles through the mass of people towards him.

Sherlock's feet begin to move of their own accord, keeping his eyes locked with hers as they clamber towards the fountain. He pushes aside excited sightseers, their exclamations of anger in fifteen languages ignored as he rushes forward.

Finally, they are standing in front of each other wearing matching expressions of astonishment and wonder. Molly reaches out a hand and lightly caresses his cheek. His eyelids flutter closed at the contact, and he lets out a breath, relishing the feel of her fingers on his skin.

He opens his eyes when he hears her choked sob. Her other hand is covering her mouth, and he gently grabs it and squeezes. When she tries to pull away, however, he grips it more securely, afraid to lose even this simple connection.

"Sherlock, I…." He shivers at the sound of his name falling from her lips. It has been far too long since someone called him by his given name. "What are you doing in Italy?" He reads the questions she wants to ask in her deep brown eyes. _Are you safe? Is it over yet? When are you coming home?_

"I have tracked down the last of Moriarty's network to Rome. Soon, everything will be done."

She laughs in relief. Obviously, the past three years have taken a toll on her as well. He cringes internally at the knowledge that he has caused her pain. Wanting to alleviate some of his remorse, he says, "I did not expect to find you here, Molly."

"I just… needed a bit of a holiday, I guess. You know about John's engagement?" He nods. "Everyone is so happy. Not that that's a bad thing!" she quickly adds. "But a part of me feels guilty about sharing in their joy when I have lied to them for so long. I wanted to escape reality for a little while, I guess." She draws her hand away from his face and looks down at her feet.

He cups her chin and pulls her head up. "Molly, you are the bravest woman I know. Thank you. For everything." He presses a delicate kiss to her forehead before releasing her and turning to the fountain beside them. "There is a legend that states that anyone who tosses a coin into the TreviFountain is destined to return to Rome."

"I've heard the stories, Sherlock," she answers softly, reverently admiring the shimmering water.

"Maybe, once this is over for good, we can come back here. Together." He pulls two coins out of his pocket. Handing one to her, he clasps her shoulder and effectively turns them both around, so their backs are to the fountain. "On the count of three, throw the coin over your left shoulder with your right arm. Do you understand?"

She grins at him and bobs her head. "One…. Two…. Three!" They both laugh as they fling the coins behind them. Sherlock takes her hand one more time, bringing her knuckles to his lips. They exchange bittersweet smiles, recognizing that this is goodbye for now. They cling to the other's hands for a moment longer before backing away in opposite directions.

Sherlock turns away from her and walks back to the alley where he had entered the square. He spares her one final glance, filing away this picture of Molly in his mind palace next to his other memories of her. He reflects on the encounter as he strolls through the streets of Rome, now more determined than ever to capture Moran and return to London.

* * *

**What did you think? Please review and let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3: Protector

**This was a prompt fill for an anonymous user on Tumblr who wanted a story about Sherlock looking out for Molly through out the years. I hope you guys like this one! I couldn't help adding in a slight Star Trek reference, and I will be amazed if anyone can find it!**

* * *

It starts when they are twelve years old. John stumbles upon his best friend punching Billy Campbell (a huge, brute of a boy) in the face. He is momentarily impressed that Sherlock seems to be winning before grabbing his friend and pulling him off of the bleeding boy. John stops Billy's response with a quick jab to the ribs. Billy hunches over, groaning. John notices the teacher headed towards them and drags Sherlock by his collar back inside the building.

"What were you thinking, Sherlock?!" he asks in exasperation. Someone as smart as his friend must know that hitting someone bigger than himself, especially with a teacher nearby, is a horrible idea.

"I saw him giving Amelia a flower during our break this afternoon, even though, only yesterday, he told Molly Hooper that he liked her!" _Ah. Everything makes sense now_. Sherlock has always been overly protective of their pretty and quiet friend.

"Okay, okay. Just promise me you won't do anything so _stupid_ again!" He pats his heavily-breathing friend on the back, and they walk back to their classroom together, taking their seats next to Molly.

She gasps in surprise when Billy staggers through the door behind them, traces of drying blood visible below his nose. "My goodness! What do you think happened?!" John shrugs and looks at Sherlock, who merely smirks smugly to himself and remains silent on the subject.

* * *

Throughout the years, John watches curiously as the pattern repeats itself over and over. Sherlock becomes more subtle in his approach as the years go by, but the result remains the same. Any boy who hurts Molly Hooper inevitably feels the wrath of Sherlock.

There is Charlie in Year 10, who laughs in Molly's face when she timidly asks if he would like to attend her birthday party. He is banned from the football team because _someone_ alerts the coach that he has been buying his essays from another student. When they are sixteen, Ben makes Molly cry when she overhears him telling his friends about his weird lab partner who wants to work with dead bodies. The next morning, photographs of Ben kissing his male math tutor are plastered all over the school. John thinks that one might have been his favorite.

Through all of this, however, Molly Hooper remains unaware of Sherlock's self-appointed role as her avenging angel. John wonders how she would react. Would she be mad or flattered? He also considers his friend's reasons, but when he interrogates Sherlock about the pranks, he is ignored in favor of a particularly interesting microscope slide. He sighs and continues to observe, mentally making note of every occurrence.

* * *

Molly does not catch on until they are all in their second year at university. John is studying the bones of the wrist for his anatomy exam (_Who cares about the difference between the trapezium and the trapezoid? An x-ray will show it's broken either way_), when Molly Hooper storms into the flat that the three of them share, roughly slamming the door behind her.

Sherlock barely manages to plant his foot in the crack before it shuts in his face. "Molly! I don't see why you are so upset! He had it coming!"

Molly Hooper, face flushed red in anger, turns on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "What do you mean, 'he had it coming'?! No one deserves _that_!"

John closes his book quietly and twists his head between his two flat mates. This is far more interesting than anatomy, anyway. "He _cheated_on you, Molly! I'd say his punishment was fairly light, given the crime!" John hisses out a breath. Sherlock has finally been discovered, then. Molly has been dating Oliver for almost a month. John has reservations about the man from the beginning, but keeps quiet under consideration of Molly's feelings. Sherlock, it seems, does not share his tact.

"You stranded him in a locker room without any clothes and caused him to miss his final presentation! Then, you convinced his professor that his absence was due to 'excessive alcohol consumption' as you so eloquently explained. He has failed the class. Why on earth would you do that?" She shakes her head to the side, trying to understand Sherlock's motive.

The tall, curly haired man appears as though he is not going to answer, when he meets her gaze and sighs. "Fine! He hurt you, alright? I could not just stand by while he flaunted her in front of you. He needed to pay!" Sherlock takes Molly's smaller hand in his, lightly tracing the bones. (John fleetingly thinks this would be a far more enjoyable method to study for his exam.)

Molly gapes at him, the weight of his words shocking her into silence for several minutes. John questions if he should leave the room and leave them to their private moment until she speaks up. "Thank you for your concern, Sherlock. But while I appreciate the sentiment, you didn't need to go quite that far. He has to retake the entire class! I'm not worth all of that trouble."

"You, Molly Hooper, are worth far more than that." He smiles at her, prompting one from her in return. John gathers his books and walks to his bedroom, almost missing Sherlock's next statement.

"Besides, it's not like that is the _worst_ thing I have ever done for you."

"What?!"


	4. Chapter 4: Hostage Situation

**Prompt from Anonymous: A hostage situation at St Bart's makes it difficult for Sherlock to get to Molly/make sure she's okay.**

* * *

Sherlock and John had just completed a rather demanding case involving a show dog kidnapping ring and were now headed to St. Bart's to see if Molly had any specimens for the consulting detective to experiment with.

Sherlock hummed to himself as they ambled quickly toward the hospital, the shorter man scurrying to keep up with his long-legged partner. He knew Sherlock was anxious to see his pathologist, as they had not spent any time together in nearly a week. The two had been together for just over six weeks, now, and John had never seen his flat mate happier.

John, lost in thought, ran right into his friend, who gave him a glare before quickly turning his attention back to the scene in front of them. John's mouth dropped open at the sight.

Police surrounded the front of the building, a barricade set up to keep anyone from entering or exiting. Sherlock spied DI Lestrade amid the mass of people and stormed over to him, demanding answers. Lestrade at least had the sense to look down at his feet, ashamed.

"Now, Sherlock, don't overreact," he mumbled, afraid of the detective's ire.

"What is going on, Lestrade? Or do you want me to deduce it?"

"Apparently, a man stormed into the morgue, insisting that he be allowed to see his wife, recently deceased. Unfortunately, the pathologist on duty already sent the body on for funeral arrangements. Now, the man is ordering that she be brought back, or he will open fire on everyone in the morgue. The hospital is on complete lock down." Fear flashed across Sherlock's face, so brief that only someone in tune with him would be able to discern it. John Watson did.

Sherlock glared at the sheepish detective inspector for a moment, upset that he was not called immediately. He marched away abruptly and attempted to step through the barricade, but was stopped by both of his friends.

"Let me go! I need to make sure she's safe!" Sherlock begged. John was worried now. Never in their entire friendship had he seen Sherlock resort to pleading.

"I can't let you do that, mate," Lestrade replied. "For all I know, you would say something horrible and end up getting everyone, including yourself, killed. For now, you'll just have to stand back and let us work."

Sherlock sighed heavily but made no move to argue further. As they waited for the police to bring the situation under control, Sherlock paced back and forth, muttering incoherently under his breath. The doctor could not imagine what he must be going through. If it were Mary instead…. No, he refused to finish that thought.

A motion behind Sherlock caught John's attention, and he smiled for the first time in nearly an hour. "Sherlock!" he called. His flat mate merely waved him off, still lost in his own mind.

His movements ceased, however, as a small hand touched his back. "Sherlock?" a quiet voice asked, barely audible over the ruckus behind them. "Is everything alright?"

The young woman jumped as Sherlock turned around and crushed his lips to hers. Molly reciprocated for a moment, her hands taking residence in his dark curls, before pulling away and looking at him questioningly, his ice blue eyes gazing intently into hers. "What's wrong?"

"I thought…. No, it doesn't matter. You are safe." John believed he would stop there, but the detective continued after noticing the confusion on Molly's face. "There is a gunman in the morgue, threatening the pathologist," he explained to his girlfriend.

"I was working in the lab this morning. I stepped out to grab a bite to eat and noticed the commotion when I returned. Dr. Campbell was on duty today. You don't think he's hurt, do you?!"

Sherlock pulled the pathologist back to him and stroked her hair. "I am certain he will be fine, Molly. I am merely relieved that you are, as well." The statement was as close to confessing his feelings in public as Sherlock could muster, and John shared a grin with Lestrade as they witnessed the exchange.

* * *

**Review?**


	5. Chapter 5: Drugged

**Anonymous Prompt: Sherlock is drugged and confesses his feelings for Molly. This is actually one of my favorite prompt fills that I've done. I hope you guys like it as well!**

* * *

Molly Hooper slammed through the doors into the waiting room, looking around frantically before spotting John Watson. The man sat in an uncomfortable, generic hospital chair, head in his hands.

He looked up as she called his name, and he stood when he saw her terrified face. "I came as soon as I received your text. Where is Sherlock? Is he going to be okay?!"

John put a comforting arm around the trembling woman. "He's pretty beat up and needed a few stitches. The doctor said he should be fine but wanted to keep him overnight to make sure there aren't any complications."

John watched Molly visibly relax at his words. "So, what happened?" she questioned.

"Evidently, he was accosted by a group of drug traffickers who wanted to find out what he had discovered about their ring. When physical harm didn't work, they dosed him with a non-fatal amount of sodium thiopental. He's sleeping it off now."

"Truth serum?" He bobbed his head in reply, but before he could elaborate, a blonde nurse stepped into the waiting room.

"Molly Hooper?" she called, searching the nearly empty room. Molly quickly raised her hand to catch the woman's attention.

"The patient in room 304 keeps asking for you. Please come with me." She shared a perplexed look with John before following.

The sight of Sherlock lying nearly motionless on a bed, in sterile, all-white hospital room broke her heart. She was painfully reminded of other, similar visits to rooms identical to this one when her father was sick.

As she moved closer to the detective, she saw his eyes sluggishly drift over her. He reached out a hand when she was close enough and pulled her the final distance to his side. He gazed up at her, a goofy smile decorating his usually stoic face. "Molly!" he murmured childishly, squeezing her hand in acknowledgment. "You're here!"

She returned his smile with a soft one of her own before checking his vitals on the monitor to her right. He tugged her hand when he realized he no longer had her full attention. "Molly, I have to tell you something."

She patted his arm with her free hand in a gesture of encouragement. "I'm listening, Sherlock."

"I wanted you to know that I think you are really pretty with your hair down. Well, you look beautiful however you wear your hair, but I prefer it that way. And I don't believe your mouth and breasts are too small. They are perfect. _You _are perfect, Molly Hooper," he confessed happily, still wearing that ridiculous smirk. He closed his eyes at that, and she thought he had fallen asleep before he spoke again. "Will you stay with me?"

His words touched her in a way only Sherlock's could, and she nodded in agreement. "Of course, Sherlock. I'll stay as long as you want." She pulled the chair close enough so that she could take his hand once more.

"Is forever all right with you?" he mumbled before finally giving into his body's need for respite. _Perhaps_ _hospitals aren't so bad after all_, she thought to herself and drifted off to sleep herself.

* * *

**Please review and let me know what you thought!**


	6. Chapter 6: Party Crasher

**Yet another Anonymous prompt on Tumblr: molly is on a date with a wealthy man at one of the guys charity functions which happens to have criminal working there in which sherlock and nsy crash to arrest the man.**

* * *

She really should not be surprised. Sherlock had made a habit out of ruining her relationships. Why would tonight be any different?

She had first met Charles when she was running late one morning. In her hurry, she had slammed into him, falling down and spilling her coffee all over the man. When she noticed the hospital director looking at her in horror, she realized this must be the new benefactor everyone had been warned about. In the midst of her apology, however, he had helped her up and kissed the back of her hand. He then proceeded to ask if she was available to accompany him to a party the following Saturday, effectively shocking her into silence. At that moment, she understood exactly how Cinderella had felt when she met her prince.

When he called her with the details, she realized that "party" actually meant "gala." She splurged on a dress that cost her a month's wages, a dark blue number that made her feel pretty. She and Mary Watson then spent the entire day making sure she looked perfect, her hair half-up and curled in ringlets. She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when she heard the knock on her door. She gaped at Mary, butterflies in her stomach. She had not been this nervous since Sherlock told her he needed her help to fake his death.

Telling herself not to think about the detective, as he had made it clear he was not interested, she bravely opened the door and smiled at Charles. He handed her a large bouquet of roses, which Mary said she would put in water, and held his arm out to her. She gripped it and giggled, feeling giddy. Maybe her bad luck with men was finally changing.

She was having a wonderful time, her date charming her with a story of his two-year-old son, when a ruckus at the entryway drew her attention. Over the heads of the couples dancing, she could make out a head of dark curly hair. _Oh, please, not tonight. Not again_, she thought desperately. Of course, her pleas were for naught.

The crowd parted quickly, revealing none other than Sherlock Holmes, DI Greg Lestrade, and a shame-faced John Watson, who was looking at her in pity. _Mary must have told him of my plans, then_. Sherlock, however, seemed not to have noticed her. He strode up to one of the waiters, a greasy-haired man with his hand currently inside an unsuspecting woman's bag. At the realization that he had been caught, the man attempted to flee, only to meet with Sherlock's imposing figure.

He gulped at the expression on the consulting detective's face and held out his hands to the detective inspector, who quickly handcuffed him and led him outside.

Sherlock, it seemed, had finally detected Molly's presence and marched over to the corner where she was still standing awkwardly with Charles. He gave the man one glance, before turning to Molly. "What have a told you about avoiding relationships, Molly? Has he mentioned that his wife left him when it was revealed he had fathered a bastard child with his secretary? From the look on your face, I should say not. You're welcome. Good night."

With that, he walked away, a sheepish John Watson trailing behind. The doctor mouthed "I'm sorry," to her before following Sherlock out the door.

Molly looked to Charles, who was still staring in alarm at the spot Sherlock had previously occupied. "I take it he was right," she said calmly, before rushing away. She briefly wondered if Sherlock was right, and she should shun romantic entanglements in the future.

She stepped out into the cool night air, trying to understand why it was she always attracted the wrong men. "Molly!" a baritone voice called from her left. Sherlock was leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for her.

She glared at him and kept walking.

His hand around her wrist stopped her, and he twisted her around until they were face to face. "What do you want, Sherlock? Do you want to belittle me some more? Mock me for my horrible taste in men?" She hated how bitter she sounded but felt a small glimmer of satisfaction when he winced at her words.

"Molly, I am sorry. John told me that was a bit not good."

"A bit not good?! Sherlock, I could write a book on all the things you have done or said to me that are 'a bit not good' as you put it!"

"I know, Molly. Please let me make it up to you. Would you like a coffee? You really do look beautiful in that dress." He was rambling._Sherlock bloody Holmes _was actually _rambling_because of her. Her inner thirteen-year-old did a little jig before she squashed that down.

"What do you need, Sherlock? If this is some ploy to convince me to give you body parts –."

"No! Honestly, you really do think the worst of me, don't you? You. I need you. Recently, it has come to my attention that I lash out when I see you with other men. Irrational, yes, because I know you are still in love with me, but true nevertheless. I would like to buy you a coffee because I believe I may have… _feelings_ for you." She gaped at him in astonishment, seeing the honesty in his ever-changing eyes.

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, Molly. And I will do my best to ensure that I do not hurt you again in the future. I suspect I will indubitably muck up again, but I can promise that I will try."

She smiled up at him and nodded. He gripped her hand and led her down the street to a quiet café, talking animatedly about their latest experiment.


	7. Chapter 7: Concussion

**This one is similar to the drabble I recently posted where Sherlock was drugged, but I really like it. This was a prompt fill for the wonderful MorbidbyDefault! (If you haven't read her Sherlolly stories, you must! She is one of the best writers for this ship!) This is basically my personal headcanon for how Sherlock would react if he had a minor injury.**

* * *

John Watson smiled to himself as he ambled back up to Sherlock's hospital room. He had a date with Mary this evening and was excited to see her expression when he showed her the ring.

Upon entering the room, however, he discovered that his flat mate was no longer lying on the bed. In fact, there was no sign of Sherlock anywhere. John bit down a wave of panic, threatening to crush him. Sure, the doctor had told him that the detective should be fine. The man did not even think it was necessary to observe him overnight. But what if his head injury was more serious than they thought? What if Sherlock was, at this very moment, wandering around London, confused and alone?

John ran from the room and found Sherlock's nurse flirting with a male doctor. He did not hesitate to interrupt. His best friend's safety could be compromised!

"Have you seen Sherlock Holmes? He's not in his room."

The nurse appeared affronted at his disruption before her face turned thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, I did see a tall man with curly dark hair walking toward the elevators. He seemed –" John sprinted off before she could finish. Surely, he wouldn't go to the morgue, right? There were far more important items to focus on than another case.

He elected to rush down the stairs instead of waiting in line for the elevator, reaching the bottom floor in record time. Just as he was about to open the door to the morgue, however, a deep voice halted his motions. His friend's gentle tone hinted that he was in the middle of a private conversation. John felt a brief sense of guilt for eavesdropping before putting his ear closer to the entrance. After all, how many times had Sherlock ruined one of his intimate moments?

"Molly, I need to tell you something of vital importance." John assumed she had acknowledged that statement with a silent gesture, because a few moments later Sherlock continued.

"A recent near-death experience has forced me to re-evaluate many of my former decisions. While I do not regret much, the status of our relationship is one thing I very much would like to change."

"What are you saying, Sherlock?" a quiet female voice answers. "Are you asking me to be your…." She drifts off, most likely in fear of alarming the commitment-phobic man.

"Although I do not like the labels society stipulates must be put on romantic entanglements, if it would make you feel better, then yes, I want you to be my girlfriend. I realized today that it would haunt me forever if I was unable to confess my feelings towards you. And I would be extremely honored if you would accompany me to dinner this evening."

A crash echoed through the empty hallway, and John dashed into the morgue to make sure everyone was okay. Instead of the chaos and possible broken limbs he was expecting, his eyes rested on a far more disturbing sight. Sherlock's arms were clasped around Molly's waist, as the petite woman tangled her fingers in his curls. What really shocked John, however, was the way they were kissing furiously. An empty specimen jar was shattered into tiny pieces on the floor. Clearly, they had knocked it off of the counter in their enthusiasm. "What the –?" he started, unable to finish his thought at the scene he had walked in on.

They tore apart instantly upon realizing they were no longer alone. When John attempted to meet Molly's eyes, her cheeks flushed adorably, and she buried her face in the space between Sherlock's neck and shoulder.

The detective, on the other hand, only smirked appreciatively at his flat mate. "I suppose you have come to take me back to the torture chamber of boredom known as my hospital room. Fine! Molly, I will see you this evening promptly at eight. You have no need to dress up, as I find you look wonderful in anything."

He strode out the door quickly, motioning to John to follow. John shook his head, wanting to have a short conversation with the pathologist. Sherlock sighed before reluctantly nodding and letting the door slam behind him.

Molly still refused to make eye contact, so John walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's about time he realized, don't you think?" he joked, hoping to entice a small smile out of the mortified woman.

She giggled softly before she finally raised her head. "And all it took was the possibility of him dying for real this time."

The doctor shook his head before leaning in conspiratorially. "I will let you in on a little secret. It was only a mild concussion. The doctor isn't even watching him overnight. Sherlock can be a bit of a baby when it comes to minor injuries. Shove a gun in his face or force him to ingest a possibly fatal pill, no problem. But, God forbid, he trips and hits his head on the concrete while chasing a suspect through an alley. I found him passed out momentarily after I apprehended the suspect. He demanded I bring him here to be examined."

Molly's grin widened, and then the pair was laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "Don't even get me started on the time he swore he needed stitches when he gave himself a paper cut."

* * *

**Please leave a review! They make me happy! :) (And in case you haven't figured out, I have quite a few prompt fills to upload, but I have decided to only post 2 per day!) **


	8. Chapter 8: Secret

**The prompt was Greaser!lock. I'm not sure if I succeeded in that, but I do really like this teen!lock.**

* * *

Sixteen-year-old Molly Hooper had a secret. One that not even her best friend Mary knew about.

It all started when she was placed in all advanced classes because her grades were so much higher than anyone else's. She didn't care that she was known as "Little Miss Perfect." _Much_. She liked to study and spent the majority of her free time at home reading, or talking with her parents about their days. If she sometimes stared out her bedroom window to watch the other teenagers cruising through town in their fancy cars, it was because she was curious about people her age. Not because she was unhappy with her life.

Yes, Molly was perfectly content with her sheltered existence. At least, until she met _him_. Sherlock Holmes, the cool and sophisticated boss of the school, had been assigned to be her lab partner for the year. He was only two years older than she was, but sometimes he made her feel like an infant, utterly hopeless. Initially, his snide remarks and devil-may-care attitude irritated her, and, when forced to cooperate for an assignment, they would occasionally send each other glares across the table while completing their work separately.

After several months, however, Molly began to notice other things about Sherlock. Traits he hid from the rest of the school. While he obviously hated class and the work associated with it, he was actually quite brilliant. She could reluctantly admit that she was a bit jealous that he always scored higher marks than she did, even though she never saw him pick up a book. Mary, who worked in the administration office, had gleefully confided to her that he had the highest grade point average in the school.

A tentative friendship was born when she shyly asked him to help her with a particularly challenging problem. His hand brushed against hers as he was explaining, and he merely smirked when she blushed in response, refusing to meet his extraordinarily beautiful eyes.

Molly could not deny that he was the most attractive boy she had ever seen. With his black leather jacket, greased back hair, and indifferent demeanor, all of the girls in school yearned to get him to notice them. He made it completely clear, however, that he was not interested in pursuing a romantic relationship, and so they all stalked him from afar.

Everything changed one day when Molly found herself cornered by a cluster of older girls, jealous of her relationship with Sherlock. Her usually immaculate hair was falling out of its pony-tail, ribbon lying forgotten on the ground. Her blouse was ripped where one of them had grabbed her. She tried explaining that she and Sherlock were simply lab partners, but the mob would not be deterred. "We see the way he stares at you when you aren't looking," their leader, Irene Adler, argued. "And I noticed that you turn bright red when he smiles at you. Stop denying it!"

As she finished her tirade, she brought her hand back, priming to strike the smaller girl, when a large hand grasped her wrist and pulled her arm down. "What are you doing?" a deep baritone voice rang out.

Irene grinned flirtatiously up at Sherlock, batting her eyelashes. She ignored his eye roll. "Just a little girl talk, Sherlock. Nothing to worry your gorgeous head about. I was wondering if you'd like to –"

She trailed off as Sherlock simply snatched Molly's hand and pulled her away from the crowd. Molly was running, trying to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. He stopped and released her hand when they reached a deserted corridor. Molly bent over, trying to catch her breath and will away the tears welling up in her eyes. She noticed his leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders and wondered when he had put it there.

"Molly, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" His concern touched her, and she raised her head slowly, meeting his gaze.

"I'm fine, don't worry. Thank you. For saving me, I mean." He shrugged off her gratitude and cupped her cheek with one hand, the other steadying her.

"It was the least I could do. They _were_ bullying you because of me, after all." He gently pushed some stray hairs behind her ear and stroked her cheek bone with his thumb.

"Can you believe they thought that you liked me?" She giggled nervously, afraid that he would see how fervently she wanted it to be true. "As if you could ever care about me as more than a friend." She turned her head away from him to hide the hurt on her face.

"They were right."

Her head shot up at his confession. "W-what?!" she stuttered out.

"I don't really do the whole girlfriend thing, but I think about you all the time. You're the first girl I've met that cares more about my personality than my reputation."

His face scrunched up, and Molly knew how hard it was for him to utter those words. She beamed up at him to dispel some of his discomfort and was rewarded with a wide grin. "Are you asking me to…? Do you want me to be your… girlfriend?" she hesitantly questioned.

He gave her a curt nod before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. At the sound of approaching footsteps, the couple pulled apart. "Can we keep this a secret for now, Molly? I don't want to give those girls more reason to torment you."

She squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. "I'd like to see where this is going before letting other people know." Sherlock's best friend, John Watson, barreled around the corner. He stopped when he saw his friend sharing a knowing smile with Molly.

That night, Molly laid on her bed, day dreaming about her new boyfriend. Yes, Molly Hooper had a secret. And she was very happy about that.


	9. Chapter 9: Birthday

**Prompt: Kid!lock**

* * *

Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to stop his hands from shaking. He stared across the school yard, squeezing the bundle in his hands so tightly he thought he might crush it.

Curious and observant, even at twelve years old, Sherlock did not have many friends. In fact, he could name only two. The first, of course, was his best mate John Watson. They had quickly bonded when John hit two older boys who had called Sherlock a freak. A month of detention and a severe scolding from both sets of parents had been worth cementing their lifelong friendship.

His only other friend, Molly Hooper, was a shy, pretty girl he had met in Year 2. While the other children laughed at his odd behavior and eagerness to learn, Molly encouraged him, going so far as to accompany him on exploratory treks through the forest. She understood his thirst for knowledge and interest in science, and her face lit up whenever they had discovered some new bit of information.

Today was Molly's birthday, and Sherlock had painstakingly picked out a present for her. He wanted to make her smile. He really liked when she was happy because of him.

He balled his fists and marched over to his friend, who was currently engrossed in a book about fireflies, a gift from John. He gently tapped on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him, and handed her the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Her smile was instantaneous, as she set the book down beside her and grabbed the arrangement of wildflowers he had plucked himself. She held them up to her nose and breathed in the sweet scent.

He cleared his throat to catch her attention. "Hap – happy birthday, Molly," he stuttered, cheeks blushing pink in embarrassment. Her pretty eyes gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"I thought you'd forgotten," she said quietly, grinning down at the flowers once more. "Did you pick these flowers all by yourself?"

He mumbled out a "Yes" before quickly turning and moving back toward the school. A small hand grasping his arm stopped him. When he looked back, her face was scrunched up in concentration.

"Molly?" he questioned, wondering what was going on. She took a deep breath and braced herself, pushing her shoulders back.

Before he realized what was happening, a pair of soft lips caressed his cheek. He felt more blood rushing to his face, and he imagined he looked like a tomato right now. She moved away just as quickly. "Thank you, Sherlock." She sprinted away, pausing only to pick up her book, and was gone before his brain could comprehend her words. His mouth hung open as he stared after her, and his hand came to rest on his face where she had kissed him.

He noticed John lurking in the bushes nearby, obviously spying on his two friends. When he realized Sherlock had spotted him, he stepped out, a huge smirk adorning his face. "Looks like she enjoyed your present." His grin widened at Sherlock's discomfort.

His friend refused to comment, remaining silent as they returned to class, although John observed the couple watching each other across the classroom, cheeks flushing once more when their eyes met.

* * *

**Like it? Not? Please leave a review and let me know! I would love to improve!**


	10. Chapter 10: Burglar

**First, I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this little collection of mine. I have been remiss in showing my gratitude, but I appreciate every single one of you! Your support encourages me to keep writing! To the people who have sent me prompts, I will try to write those when I can, but graduate school is keeping me pretty busy at the moment. I will get to them, though, I promise!**

**This was prompt fill for paulthomasquells. I really love writing protective Sherlock, so I really enjoyed this one. :)**

* * *

Molly was having a rather marvelous dream (involving a pair of spectacular blue eyes and a head of dark, curly hair) when a noise awoke her. She blinked groggily for a moment, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes, before jumping to attention. The sound of shuffling footsteps was coming from her sitting room.

As quietly as she could with her limbs still sore from sleep, she grabbed her phone from the table beside her and hurried into her bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She started to call the police but knew they would probably take too long to reach her flat. Her hands shook as she dialed the first person that popped into her mind, praying that he was not too absorbed in his current case to pick up.

She heard a click on the other end before a voice answered. "Molly, what do you need? I am in the middle of a particular exciting experiment at the mom–."

"Sherlock! S-someone's inside m-my flat!" she trembled, filling with terror as she heard movement outside the bathroom. She dropped the phone and scrambled to retrieve it, missing most of the detective's reply.

"– on my way. Where are you?"

"I've l-locked myself in the b-bathroom. I'm… I'm sorry to b-bother y-you, but…." Unable to speak anymore, she wrapped her arms around her knees and sobbed silently into her legs, still worried that whoever was in her flat would discover her hiding place. She could hear Sherlock whispering words of comfort in her ear.

"Molly, I'm almost there. Just stay on the phone with me. Everything will be fine."

She gently rocked back and forth, listening to his voice, until she heard a loud thump from the front of her flat, followed by running footsteps approaching her bedroom. A series of harsh yells and masculine grunts caused her to fold in on herself, trying to block out the sounds.

Eventually, there was an insistent knocking on her bathroom door, and she hesitantly raised her head, hoping that Sherlock was on the other side. "Molly, it's me. Please open the door."

His gentle tone surprised her. She was used to his terse and insensitive demeanor. She rushed over, fumbling with the lock because her hands were not quite steady yet. As soon as she pulled open the door, strong arms embraced her, crushing her small form to a very solid chest.

"It's okay now. You're safe, Molly," he chanted the words over and over again like a prayer, as if assuring himself of her status as well.

After several minutes, he pulled back enough to cup her face with his hands, brushing away the remaining tears with his thumb. She glanced past him into her room and saw a large man passed out on her carpet, pieces of her jewelry scattered around him, where he had dropped them when confronted by Sherlock. She hugged him again, feeling safer in his arms than anywhere else. They stayed like that until Scotland Yard arrived to apprehend the thief.

* * *

Once they had both given their statements to the police, Sherlock accompanied Molly back to 221B. He did not want her to be alone, and she agreed to stay with him.

When she moved to lie down on the sofa, he shook his head and gestured down the hallway, leading her to his bedroom. "Sleep here tonight. It will be more comfortable, and I hardly use it anyway." She changed into the long t-shirt he had provided for her and climbed into the bed. Although the experience had been awful, she still felt a small thrill at the idea that she was in Sherlock's room.

Exhausted, she could not stop herself from crying again. She heard the door open and felt the bed shift, before long arms wrapped around her once more. Sherlock continued whispering softly into her hair, and she drifted off to the sound of his deep baritone.

* * *

**Have an opinion? Please leave a review!**


	11. Chapter 11: Revelations

**This was a prompt fill for an Anon on tumblr, and might be one of my favorite things I've written so far. I hope you all like it too!**

**I am also changing the rating of this story to T, because, while I don't mention anything explicitly (trust me, NO ONE would want to read that), it is implied. :)**

* * *

John Watson sits with his wife on his left, while Greg Lestrade resides on his other side. Mrs. Hudson scurries in from the kitchen, arms laden with a tray covered in sandwiches. She sets it down on the table and plops down in what used to be John's chair. The group looks curiously to Sherlock Holmes, who had requested their presence this evening.

The consulting detective appears to be waiting for something, and he perks up as the front door opens, revealing the silhouette of Molly Hooper. She stops when she sees the people in the sitting room and gapes at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Now?" she mouths, head darting between the detective and his guests. He gives her a brusque nod, striding over and wrapping his hand around her wrist. He pulls her to his former position in front of the fireplace, and the pair turns to the curious onlookers.

"Molly and I-." He is cut off by a sharp jab to his ribs from the petite pathologist standing beside him. "_Fine_. _I_-." He glances quickly to Molly and, when he sees her nod in approval, continues, "_I_have some news I would like to share with all of you. While it may come as a colossal shock, Molly and I began a romantic relationship and have been seeing each other for the past three months. We- _I_- am sorry that I kept this secret from all of you. Molly did wish to tell you right away."

He closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders, preparing for the onslaught of abuse his friends are sure to bestow upon him. When the room remains silent, however, he quickly opens his eyes and looks at the others. There is no surprise on any of their faces. In fact, they appear to be holding back their amusement. Sherlock turns to Molly only to see an expression of confusion likely mirrored by his own.

Finally, after a torturous five minutes, John Watson speaks up. "Sherlock…. We kind of knew that, mate. In fact, we've all known about the two of you for a while. You two are rubbish at hiding your feelings."

"And at controlling your libidos," Mrs. Hudson pipes in. "Honestly, Sherlock, dear, these walls are not that thick." Matching red splotches appear on the cheeks of both the detective and his pathologist.

Molly, tears of embarrassment welling up in her dark brown eyes, tries to discreetly inch over to the door when Sherlock grabs her hand and entwines their fingers. He squeezes her hand reassuringly and turns back to glare at the group. Nobody, not even his closest friends, are allowed to make Molly Hooper cry in his presence. Well, aside from Sherlock himself_._ He gulps down his guilt at that thought.

"Well, now that _that_ has been cleared up, how did you figure it out? Please do enlighten us with the details."

John's head shoots up to meet the detective's angry stare. "Are you sure? It might cause you even more mortification." When Sherlock does not answer, only continues to glower at them, he swallows. One by one, they divulge their stories.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Hudson is the first to discover their relationship.

She is tidying up after her supper, debating whether or not to force her tenant to eat something today, when a loud bang from 221B causes her to drop the dish in her hands. She silently curses her clumsiness (The loss of her mother's china plate really is a travesty.) before hurrying up the stairs and barging into the flat.

She expects to find Sherlock lounging around in the sitting room, inconsiderately shooting at the wall again, and is astonished to find the room empty. She hears more sounds coming from the direction of the detective's bedroom, hastening down the hall in her rush to investigate._ What in the world could he have gotten himself into this time?_

She nears the door and pushes it open hesitantly, dreading what she could find on the other side. A feminine giggle halts her movements, and she peeps her head through the crack. She chokes down a gasp when she sees Sherlock laying on the bed, with Molly Hooper –

(_Mrs. Hudson's retelling is cut off by a squeak from the woman in question, whose hands are covering her mouth. "I believe you can skip over that _particular_ detail, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock says gruffly, his arm now around Molly. Mrs. Hudson sends Molly an apologetic glance, but Lestrade, John, and Mary look slightly disappointed. Sherlock bites down his retort about them and urges the older woman to go on. With a final glance at Molly, she does.)_

After seeing, well, _that_, Mrs. Hudson quickly and quietly shuts the door and scurries back to her flat, considering the scene she had just witnessed. A smile slowly blossoms on her wrinkled face at the knowledge that Sherlock has finally found himself a companion. _And such a nice girl, too_.

She begins to question her earlier assessment when she spends the rest of her evening pressing a pillow over her head, trying to block out the noises coming from the flat above her.

* * *

John and Lestrade, as it turns out, find out together.

John finds the detective inspector pacing outside the entrance to the morgue, periodically glancing at his phone. He looks up when he hears the doctor's footsteps and sighs audibly as John gives him a knowing look. "He texted me to come immediately to St. Bart's, and the bloody git isn't even here yet!"

"Surely Molly can let us in," offers John, trying to appease the stressed DI. He understands Lestrade's frustration, having been left waiting by Sherlock Holmes too many times to count.

"I can't find her either!" Lestrade shakes his head before seeming to come to a decision. "Fancy a cup of coffee? Maybe they will have magically appeared by the time we get back."

John agrees, and the duo walks towards the lifts when a door slams open in front of them. Without completing understanding why, John pulls Lestrade into a small alcove, out of sight. They peer around the corner only to see Sherlock with his forehead pressed against Molly Hooper's. The two are giggling quietly at each other, and John and Lestrade share a look of pure amazement._Sherlock Holmes is actually _giggling_._ John silently wonders if he should take a picture before focusing once more on the scene.

"We had better dash back to the morgue before they become suspicious. Come, Molly!" With that, Sherlock grasps the pathologist's hand and drags her down the corridor, oblivious to the presence of Lestrade and John.

Lestrade's mouth repeatedly opens and closes, and he points towards the corner around which the couple has disappeared. Finally, the dam breaks, and they break into a fit of laughter, nearly doubling over in their delight.

"Did you notice the state of their hair?" Lestrade asks once he has control of himself once more.

"Yes, and I definitely did not miss the fact that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. I sincerely doubt they were in that supply cupboard collecting microscope slides." Laughter overtakes them again until Lestrade's phone alerts him to a new text message.

"Bastard has the gall to ask where I am. As if _I_was keeping _him_ waiting."

The pair scurries back to the morgue, internally delighted at the information they have just uncovered.

* * *

Sherlock is quiet after their tale, glaring at the two men who are chuckling immaturely on the sofa. Instead of reprimanding them, however, he turns to Mary, who, throughout the entire conversation, has remained unusually quiet. She simply stares up at him, refusing to answer his unspoken question.

He lets out a huff at her stubbornness (although, secretly, this is one of his favorite attributes of Mary Morstan-Watson). "And Mary? How did you find out about Molly and I's relationship? Did you stumble upon us as we ate together at that café Molly loves so much? Catch us sneaking a kiss at one of you and John's numerous dinner parties?" His tone is smug, and Mary smirks at him, glancing quickly at Molly. _I am going to enjoy knocking that grin off his face._

"No, to all of your ridiculous theories. Although, with the inability the two of you have to keep your hands to yourselves, I'm surprised I didn't observe anything untoward."

"Then how?!" Really, only Mary can infuriate him this much. She really is a perfect match for John.

"Simple, really. Molly told me."

Four heads turn simultaneously to gape at the cowering pathologist, who is now looking everywhere but at Sherlock. "Molly? Is this true?!"

"Yes," she mumbles, raising her head to look up at the detective.

"I thought we decided to keep our relationship a secret, at least for the first few months."

"No, you decided! I wasn't planning on telling anyone, I swear! But I was just so happy! I had to share my joy with someone! So, when Mary confronted me about my good mood, it kind of… slipped out. Are you mad?" She tries to pull her hand away from his, intent on leaving, when Sherlock cups her cheek and presses a quick kiss to her lips.

"I'm not mad, Molly. I just wish you had told me." The couple smile lovingly at each other, heads moving slowly inwards, until a cough from behind them interrupts the moment.

"Yeah, still here," John reminds them.

* * *

**Please leave me a review to tell me what you thought! I would like to improve my writing, or know what kind of stories you guys like to read!**


	12. Chapter 12: Tennis

**I am so happy you all liked the last drabble! I had a lot of fun with it, and your kind reviews made me smile all day! **

**This was a prompt fill for the wonderful iamazonian, who wanted a fic where Molly beat Sherlock at a sport.**

* * *

John Watson watched in amusement as Sherlock attempted to flirt covertly with his pathologist girlfriend (he was failing). DI Lestrade burst into the lab, Sergeant Donovan trailing behind him. "Molly! I need your assistance! You and Sherlock will be going undercover to a Couples' Retreat. We have learned that Simon Kelly, a high-end jewel thief, will be there this weekend, and this may be our only chance to catch him."

Sherlock looked about to protest when Molly cut in. "Of course, we'll help you! Isn't that right, _Sherlock_?!" He grimaced when she elbowed him but did not refute her claim.

"Our source tells us that he enjoys playing tennis. We need you to distract him long enough for us to search his room. Do you think you can handle that?" Lestrade questioned, staring at the pair.

Molly smiled and nodded vigorously while Sherlock merely groaned.

Thirty minutes later, he and John were headed back to Baker Street so he could pack. Molly had arranged to meet them there later that evening, saying she needed to "pick up some things." Sherlock shrugged that off as yet another thing he had yet to comprehend about women.

He was rather apprehensive about this assignment, not wanting to put Molly in danger. Lestrade had assured him that the risks were minimal. At the very least, he would be able to spend a weekend with Molly. Maybe he could impress her with an unexpected aptitude for tennis. Although he had never played, he knew the general concept. How difficult could it be for someone as brilliant as him?

* * *

Sherlock crossed his arms and jutted his lower lip, ignoring the giggling woman sitting next to him. She rubbed his arm soothingly in an attempt to assuage some of his embarrassment. "It really isn't that big of a deal, Sherlock. It could have been worse."

He twisted around suddenly, hitting his bandaged wrist on the arm of his chair as he did so. He winced in pain, breathing heavily for a moment. "How on earth could it have been worse, Molly? Not only did you _humiliate_ me on the tennis court, but I also sprained my wrist when I dove to return one of your volleys!" His girlfriend was finding far too much enjoyment in his discomfort. The pouting detective turned from her once more before he continued.

"On top of that, Lestrade and Donovan were only able to apprehend the suspect because he was too busy ogling you! You distracted him with your exquisite serve and flawless technique, not to mention your outfit! Where did you manage to acquire such a tiny skirt?!"

"You know I used to play tennis with my dad. I was on the team at school! And if you must know, I bought this because I thought you would enjoy it!" She threw her hands in the air at this outburst. "Never mind, it isn't important. You should rest. Greg said we could stay until tomorrow." Her face divulged her disappointment, and Sherlock internally berated himself.

"Molly, I apologize. John will tell you how petulant I become when I am in pain. Add to that the fact that another man was gawking at _my_ pathologist, and I am feeling rather ill-tempered this evening. I do not wish for you to assume I am angry with you, however." He reached for her with his good arm and pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling her shoulder.

Molly relaxed into his embrace and cupped his face, kissing him tenderly on the nose. "It really shouldn't surprise me that you were so bothered by the fact that I beat you. You are so accustomed to being the best at everything. I suppose I may have shown off a little, hoping you would be impressed," she confessed quietly, as if ashamed of herself.

Sherlock drew her in for a passionate kiss before drawing back and resting his forehead against hers. "While I admit I was annoyed, it was because I had agreed to this operation under the belief that I could amaze you with my innate proficiency in tennis. Obviously, I misunderstood the skill required and made a fool of myself in front of the one person whose opinion I hold above all others."

He stroked her hair for a moment, gathering himself. "That being said, I did rather enjoy watching you strut around the court in that skirt. The precision with which you served ace after ace made me wish I could halt the game and bring you back here to show you how much I appreciated your talent. I was becoming very uncomfortable sitting on the sideline," he admitted, his ears turning a rather vibrant shade of red.

She wrapped her arms around him, astonished by his declaration. "Sherlock, you don't have to be perfect for me to love you. In fact, I like knowing that you're human, too. It makes me feel less inadequate compared to you. If you'd like, I could be your private tennis instructor after your wrist heals," she whispered seductively into his ear.

"You, Molly Hooper, could never be inadequate. And I would like that very much. Granted you wear that outfit to our lessons."


	13. Chapter 13: Scary Movie

**Another anonymous prompt fill. Basically, Sherlock + Horror Film = Sherlolly fluff. :)**

* * *

"Are you sure about this, John?" Sherlock asked doubtfully, eyeing his best friend. "This does not seem like the type of film Molly would like."

"Trust me on this, Sherlock. It always works for me and Mary. Put this on and turn down the lights. Before you know it, Molly will be snuggled in your arms."

* * *

Molly laughed quietly to herself as she looked over at her boyfriend, who was currently squeezing the life out of one of her throw pillows. He was completely engrossed in the scene on the television in front of them.

"But why would they run _towards_ the danger without adequate preparation? Really, Molly, this scenario is completely absurd! How can people stand this drivel?!"

Sherlock had suggested they watch a movie at her flat tonight instead of going out, and Molly had been thrilled, if a bit apprehensive at what film Sherlock would choose. When she had opened the door to let him inside and glimpsed the title he held in his hands, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. Leave it to Sherlock to select one of her favorite films. Although he had appeared a bit shocked at her reaction, he had happily reciprocated for a number of minutes.

Now, they were bundled up on the sofa, the bowl of popcorn lying forgotten on the table. It became very obvious after the first few scenes that Sherlock had never seen a horror flick before this, and Molly was enjoying his running commentary about everything that was happening.

"How on earth could they believe that was real blood? The consistency is hardly accurate!" Even as he spoke, he pulled his blanket tighter around himself, wincing as one of the unlucky teenagers met her untimely death. Molly suspected that his observations were actually a way to detach himself from the massacre occurring on screen, as he was too proud to admit that it bothered him.

Taking pity on her boyfriend, she crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His arms curled around her in response, and his head came to rest on top of hers. "Do not fear, Molly. It is only a fictional representation of events that are unlikely to ever transpire. If you would like me to stay with you tonight, however, in case your subconscious interprets the incidents as truth and produces terrifying images while you are asleep, I will do so. For your peace of mind, of course."

She giggled quietly again when he crushed her as the deranged killer appeared, evidently out of nowhere. "Of course. I think that would be best, Sherlock," she mumbled into his ear, placing a kiss just beneath his jaw.

He shuddered at the sensation but tried to hide the effect she was having on him. Apparently, terror was a rather strong aphrodisiac for the detective. Molly made a mental note to remember that in the future, continuing her assault on his neck while the movie continued to play.

"Molly….You're missing the end!"

"It's okay. We can finish it later," she whispered huskily. When he remained silent, she pulled back to look up at him. He appeared to be debating with himself before he sighed.

"There are only a few minutes left, Molly. Let's just see how it concludes!"

She unwrapped herself from him and moved back to the other side of the sofa. "Fine!" she exclaimed, frustrated, as she frowned and crossed her arms.

Sherlock, it seemed, had other plans, as he grabbed her arm and brought her back to his side, giving her an apologetic peck on the lips. She relaxed in his embrace, grinning up at him.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock awoke on the sofa, still cuddled around Molly, and fired off a text to John to thank him for his idea. He would torture himself with that nonsense every night if it meant waking up next to his pathologist. He smiled at her and fell back to sleep.

* * *

**I hate to be one of those authors who beg for reviews, but they really do make me happy and encourage me to keep writing. I also would like feedback on what kind of stories you guys like best!**


	14. Chapter 14: Rescue

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapters! Your comments are very appreciated! I would also like to thank everyone who has followed and favorited!**

**I decided to post this one-shot because the lovely SammyKatz asked for Molly to show some kick-butt moves. This is very different from what I normally write, so please let me know what you think! This was originally a prompt fill for ordre-et-beaute on tumblr, but I have tweaked it a little bit. I will post a second story later today, I am running a little short on time this morning!**

* * *

Sherlock is aware enough of his surroundings to deduce he is being held in an abandoned warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of Paris. He had been waiting for a contact within Moriarty's flagging network when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and injected with a fast-acting sedative. He curses his carelessness before assessing his current situation.

Blood drips onto the concrete floor from a gash encircling his left eye, covering the majority of his face in the red, sticky substance. He can feel bruises forming above his eyelid, leaving him able to see through only his right one. His attackers have stripped him down to a dirty white tank top and a ratty old pair of jeans, both now covered with the evidence of his torture. They hold him roughly with his hands behind his back, forcing him to his knees as they bring him to their leader. The Consulting Detective takes in the way the man confidently commands his men, as well as the look of utter loathing in his eyes, easily deducing the man's identity. Sherlock spits some blood out of his mouth and attempts to glare at Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's second-in-command, part-time lover, and the coordinator of his capture.

Moran simply laughs at Sherlock's expression, more of a grimace than a defiant stare. He aims a kick at the supposedly-dead detective's side, and Sherlock has to restrain himself from hunching over in agony. An impressed look passes over Moran's face before he begins circling his prisoner, observing the man he blames for James Moriarty's death.

He pauses in front of Sherlock and scrunches down so they are eye to eye. He places his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, ensuring he has Sherlock's full attention before he begins speaking. Sherlock observes the way the words roll off his tongue naturally, as though he has rehearsed them time and again, waiting for the moment he would finally be able to confront Sherlock Holmes.

"I know your weakness, Sherlock Holmes. Jamie, he thought he had it all figured out! Threaten the people you care about, and you would have no choice but to do anything he asked of you! I tried to explain that love doesn't make you weak. It gives you a reason to fight, to live on! But he didn't listen, and look what happened! Jamie is DEAD!" He bellows the last word and slaps Sherlock hard, causing his head to twist violently to the left, blood spattering across the room. His vision blacks out for a moment, and Moran waits as Sherlock blinks rapidly until he brings his gaze back to the enraged man before him.

"No, your greatest flaw is not the other people in your life. It's _you_," he spits out. "Your pride! You already defeated the greatest criminal mastermind in the world, how could anyone else compare to the great _Sherlock Holmes_? Well, guess what? I. Win." He gestures to one of his henchmen. The man tightens his hold on Sherlock, who clenches his teeth to keep from groaning in pain. His arms and legs are quickly bound to a wooden chair, and a dirty rag is stuffed into his mouth. He listens as another man's footsteps come up behind him, and he feels a slight prick to his neck before he passes out again.

* * *

Moran reappears periodically, tormenting his mind and body in equal measures, until Sherlock loses track of the number of days he has been trapped here. As he drifts in and out of consciousness, he wonders if his time with John was merely a figment of his imagination, a daydream conjured up by a lonely man with little to hope for anymore.

* * *

He registers the sound of skin meeting skin, followed by masculine grunts and groans, before eerie quiet fills the room. He drifts off again momentarily, but then wakes to the feel of soft hands gently caressing his face and thinks that he must be hallucinating. He _knows_ these hands. They are the same ones that have patched him up on numerous occasions over the past three years, the first of which was the night after he jumped off of St. Bart's rooftop into this hell where Sherlock Holmes is dead.

He slowly opens his eyes to the most beautiful vision he has ever seen. Molly Hooper is kneeling in front of him, big, brown, _wonderful_ eyes assessing his condition. He would smile in relief if he could muster the energy, but he can only manage a small moan. She looks up at his face, pulling the gag out and standing to walk to the other side of the chair.

He hears a small click (_Pocket knife_, his mind deduces, albeit slower than usual), and then she is sawing at the ropes tying him to the chair. When she gets his hands free, she begins working on his feet, and, in turn, he sluggishly pulls his arms forward, rubbing his wrists to bring some circulation back to his numb limbs.

The sound of rope hitting the floor alerts him that she has completed her task, and he watches as she places the knife back in the pocket of her black leather jacket before squatting down in front of him once more. "Do you think you can move? We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. I'm not sure how long the guards will be out."

He snaps to attention at that. He has completely forgotten about his captors in his relief in seeing her again. "Molly, how did you…. Why are you here? It's too dangerous!"

"Mycroft sent me," she replies quickly, placing one of his arms over her shoulder so she could help him stand up. "I'll explain later, but we really do need to hurry."

He relents, intent on questioning her once they are out of danger. His gaze passes over two armed guards, lying motionless by the entrance, as they step around them to reach the door. _How on earth could such a tiny woman defeat those men, both of whom were twice her size? _She gives both men a swift kick to the side to ensure they are still unconscious and pushes him outside. He files the question away with the others piling up in his mind palace. The drugs are wearing off, and the haze in his mind is gradually dissipating.

She leads him to a motorcycle parked discreetly outside the building. His mind registers that it was, in fact, an old warehouse before he realizes something else. "How did you get my motorbike? Oh, right. _Mycroft_." He is going to have a long discussion with his brother about sending the pathologist to do his dirty work. Surely, Mycroft knows better. _Perhaps I should go straight to Mummy_, Sherlock thinks spitefully. _It would serve him right for putting Molly in danger._

She hands him a helmet, helping him put it on when she sees him struggling. He carefully lifts his leg over the seat and sinks himself down onto it. Once she is assured he is safely settled, she dons her own helmet and climbs in front of him. Moran's henchmen come running out of the building just in time to watch helplessly as the pair rides off, Sherlock's arms clutched tightly around Molly's waist.

* * *

She stops at an air field, where a private plane is waiting for them. She nods to the young soldier standing watch, who salutes her and allows them to enter. When they are both seated comfortably in the leather chairs, Molly begins speaking before Sherlock has a chance to say anything.

"My grandfather and father were both MI5 agents and extremely good at their jobs, from what I can gather. I didn't know about their shared profession until after my dad died. Mycroft told me. My dad was his mentor."

"And so he took it upon himself to train you in return. I suppose he was the one who guaranteed your job at St. Bart's?"

She seems ashamed as she replies, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. "Yes. He wanted someone he trusted to watch over you since you were so adamant that he not interfere in your business. Since you always overlook those you deem unimportant, I was chosen as the best candidate. A small, quiet girl who agrees to anything you ask for? Nobody more insignificant than that." He goes to interrupt, to explain that the woman in front of him is definitely NOT insignificant, when she cuts him off.

"It's okay, Sherlock. Really. I know you don't feel that way anymore. Besides, your misjudgment of me guaranteed that there was someone who could help you when you most needed it. You might not have realized how qualified I was for the job, but at least I could aid you in defeating Moriarty. Right bastard that he was," she mumbles, obviously remembering how he used her to get to Sherlock. _So not everything was a lie, then._

He ponders her words for a moment, taking in everything he thought he knew about Molly Hooper, the shy, stuttering pathologist, his friend. "When he first captured me, Moran said that pride was my greatest weakness. That I underestimate those around me, which inevitably led to my downfall at his hands. Apparently, my underestimation of you has been paramount to my success. Thank you for saving my life again."

She smiles at him, cheeks blushing a lovely pink, and this is the first instance since he laid eyes on her that he recognizes _his_ Molly.

"If Mycroft believes in you, you must be a very good agent."

"The best." She cannot keep the arrogant tone out of her voice, and Sherlock likes this development. He knows, has always known, that Molly's intelligence and skills match his own. Now, he realizes that she fits him much better than he grasped.

"Are you staying to aid me in completing my mission?"

"Of course, Sherlock. You know I'll always help you. Anything you need. Anything at all." He grins at the reference to their previous conversation, when he first recognized how much he had undervalued Molly Hooper. _Never again_, he tells himself. _Never again._

* * *

**Any thoughts? Tips?**


	15. Chapter 15: Gratitude

**Just a fluffy one-shot starring the Holmes and Watson children. To Booworm45669, who asked for a Sherlolly daughter getting married, it will probably be a continuation of sorts to this little drabble. I thought you all could use a little fluff after the previous chapter. ;)**

* * *

Sherlock was examining evidence slides with his compound microscope when the door to the flat burst open. He looked up to see Henry Watson supporting his teenage daughter. Lily's mascara was running down her face, her normally immaculate hair tangled and messy.

Sherlock jumped up to help the younger man lead her to the sofa before sitting down beside her and scrutinizing her closely. He was relieved to discover that her physical injuries were minor, consisting of only a few scratches on one of her arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and breathed slowly in and out, calming herself down.

Once assured that she was fine, Sherlock rose and turned his attention to the young man standing awkwardly by the door, focusing intensely on the trembling girl. "What happened?" Sherlock asked the younger Watson, a duplicate of his father at that age.

He twisted his hands nervously for a moment before beginning. "I was walking home from school when I heard a shout. I twisted around and saw an older boy trying to grab Lily's bag. I rushed over to help as fast as I could. Just as I reached them, he ripped the bag away from her, and she fell to the ground. That's when she hurt her arm, I think. I wanted to run after him, but when I saw Lily lying helpless on the pavement below me, I decided to bring her home safely instead. I'm sorry I couldn't catch the boy who did this, Mr. Holmes."

The boy glanced down at his shoes sheepishly, frightened of his father's best friend. While his marriage and subsequent fatherhood had softened his coldness greatly, Sherlock was still known for his unwarranted anger at times.

Sherlock eyed the boy carefully, deducing him. The manner in which he had held Lily indicated that Henry's feelings towards his daughter were more than mere friendship. The boy seemed absolutely miserable, as if by failing to apprehend Lily's attacker, he was no better than the man who had hurt her.

Sherlock took pity on him and walked over, resting his hand on the boy's bicep. "I have told you before. Call me Sherlock. And you have no need to be sorry, Henry. Thank you for keeping my daughter safe. I doubt I will ever be able to repay you." He offered his free hand to the boy, who graciously shook it. A rustling from behind him reminded them both of Lily's presence, and they turned simultaneously to look at her.

"Thank you," she mumbled, gazing adoringly at the blonde boy. They smiled shyly at each other for a moment, until Henry noticed the time.

"I really should be getting home. I'm really glad you're okay, Lily." He left the flat quickly, giving Lily a grin and a final wave before he departed.

One year later, Sherlock would think back on that moment as he watched his baby girl beaming happily at Henry as he escorted her to prom. He did not think anybody was worthy of his daughter, but Henry Watson certainly came close.

* * *

**Please leave a review! They make me happy! :)**


	16. Chapter 16: New Arrivals

At three years of age, Lily Holmes was not stupid. She knew something was wrong with Mummy. For several days now, she had spent way too much time in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet. Lily also noticed that she had been very tired lately and did not have as much energy to play princess with her anymore.

Lily was not surprised when her parents sat her down at the kitchen table, sharing a glance with each other before Molly took the seat next to her. Sherlock knelt down so that he was at eye level with his daughter.

Lily looked up at her father, teeth chewing nervously on her lower lip. She was a big girl now! She would be strong and brave for her mother's sake. "Daddy, what's wrong with Mummy?" She glanced quickly at Molly, hoping she wouldn't see the lone tear sliding down her cheek.

Sherlock brushed the tear drop away before embracing the crying girl. She hugged him back tightly, her tiny hands gripping fiercely to his shirt. He pulled back after a few minutes. After deciding that Lily had calmed down enough, he took a deep breath.

"Lily, nothing is wrong. In fact, we have some exciting news!"

Molly stood up at that, clutching her husband for balance. He rose to meet her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. His free hand covered Molly's on her stomach. Sherlock turned to his wife, urging her to speak. She rolled her eyes at him and smiled down at Lily. "You know Daddy and I love you very much, right?" Lily nodded, still sniffling occasionally. "Well, we are going to be adding on to our family. How do you feel about being an older sister, Lily?"

Lily jumped off her chair, before slowly ambling over to where her parents were standing. She remembered how round Mrs. Watson's tummy had been before she had baby William. Lily scrutinized Molly's stomach intensely for a moment, poking it several times with her index finger. "You mean there is a whole baby in there?!" she asked in disbelief.

Sherlock and Molly laughed quietly before Molly replied. "Babies start out very small, and then grow bigger with time. It's a bit like how you grow every day. You were once really tiny, too. Do you understand?"

Lily chewed her lip thoughtfully for another moment. "I think so."

"Good. But instead of one sibling, you will be getting two! What do you think about that?" Lily's mouth dropped in surprise before she shyly touched Molly's stomach once more.

"Can I talk to them?" she questioned timidly, looking to her parents for permission.

"I think they would like that very much, Lily. Why don't you introduce yourself to them? It will be part of your responsibility to help watch over them."

"Okay." She pressed her face into the soft flesh of Molly's still-flat stomach. "Hello, little babies. My name is Lily, and I'm going to take really good care of you! You are really lucky because Mummy and Daddy are the best parents in the whole wide world!"

Sherlock and Molly grinned happily at each other over their daughter's head as she continued to ramble on about how much she would love them and any other random thoughts she wanted them to know.

* * *

**Please let me know what you thought, because this was actually the first parent!lock I ever wrote. Sorry for the late updates today, but I am running out of prompts to post and am trying to write a new story that is taking quite a bit out of me. Thank you again for reviewing, following, and favoriting!**


	17. Chapter 17: Panic

**Prompt fill for Anon. This was fun to write, because who doesn't love Sherlock underestimating Molly? With a little bit of protective Sherlock thrown in for good measure.**

* * *

Sherlock was running, desperately trying to reach his destination before something horrible happened. He had been investigating Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's elusive second-in-command, when a text had him rushing towards Molly Hooper's flat, a terror unlike any he had known flowing through his veins.

_I rather like your pathologist. Let's see how long before I make her scream._

He tripped on a crack in the pavement but kept going, oblivious to the bloody scrapes adorning his arm. He briefly noted that something wet was dripping down his arm but brushed the thought aside. He had more pertinent concerns. _If anything happens to Molly…._ He blocked that train of thought, refusing to believe he would be too late to rescue his pathologist.

He reached her building just as one of her neighbors was leaving and shoved the affronted woman aside. He sprinted up the steps, halting briefly when he noticed that her door was left open. He swallowed down the ominous feeling in his gut and walked into the flat. "Molly!" he yelled into the empty sitting room.

He was searching the kitchen when he heard a strangled noise from down the hall. He hurried toward what he knew to be her bedroom, stopping at the entrance to the room.

Molly Hooper was sitting cross-legged on her bed, breathing heavily and staring at a huge, blonde man. She was clutching a knife in her trembling hands. Pieces of a shattered vase decorated the floor surrounding an unconscious Sebastian Moran, lying face down on the hardwood floor. Blood seeped from his head, creeping towards where Sherlock stood in the doorway.

Sherlock rapidly took in the scene, deducing what had happened. Apparently, Molly could take better care of herself than he realized.

The woman did not acknowledge him, still gazing intently at the aftermath of her struggle with Moran. Sherlock carefully avoided the mess and went over to her, intent on removing the sharp object from her grasp and alerting her to his presence.

She gazed up at him when he touched her arm, her eyes distant and haunted. Sherlock took the knife, placed it on her bedside table and knelt down in front of her. "Molly, it's okay," he murmured gently. "You're safe." Her shoulders slumped at his words, and she wrapped her arms around the detective, nuzzling her face into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

"H-he was w-waiting for me after w-work. We fought, and I hit him before I realized what was happening. I grabbed the knife from the kitchen in case he woke up."

His fingers were tangled in her hair as he listened to her rambling explanation. He retrieved the phone resting on the duvet beside her with one hand and texted DI Lestrade to come to Molly's flat immediately.

"I came to rescue you; however, my fear for your safety was misplaced, it seems. I underestimated you once again, Dr. Hooper." In reply, she simply tightened her grip on his shirt and chuckled half-heartedly.

She pulled away after a moment, staring at him in confusion. She looked down at his free arm, still holding her phone, and gasped. "Sherlock! You're bleeding! Why didn't you say something?!" Her concern for him apparently outweighed her distress over her predicament, because she jumped up and pushed him towards her bathroom where her first aid kit was kept.

"Molly!" He interrupted her frantic rummaging through her cupboards. "It is unimportant. All that matters is that you are safe." She smiled and quickly lifted herself up to kiss his cheek, before snatching her first aid kit and turning her attention back to his arm.

* * *

**Review?**


	18. Chapter 18: Hopeless

**Prompt fill for cumberbabeusa on Tumblr. (Longer author note at the end.)**

* * *

Sherlock comes home to a silent flat, no sign of his wife of three years, although her coat is still hanging by the door. He removes his Belstaff and scarf and places them on the hook next to hers before moving further into the sitting room.

He hears a sniffle from the bathroom and quickly strides down the hall. He pushes on the door and finds Molly Holmes crouched on the floor, looking blankly at the object in her hand. The hopelessness on her face terrifies him.

Instantly deducing what has happened, he kneels down and picks up his wife, one arm around her shoulders, the other in place under her knees. Her arms fold around him, and she places her head in the space between his head and shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of her husband.

He carries her into their bedroom and lays her on the bed, removing his shoes before climbing in next to her, pulling her to him so that her back rests against his chest. He brings his lips to her ear but does not speak because what can he say that he hasn't already? They have been attempting to conceive for months, but with every failed pregnancy test, their hope is shattered a little bit more.

"It was negative again. I'm sorry, Sherlock," she whispers, placing one hand over his on her abdomen, interlocking their fingers. "I really thought it was going to happen this time."

"Shh. I know, Molly. But this isn't your fault. You can't blame yourself." He emphasizes this with a soft kiss to her cheek, trying to soothe the woman in his arms.

"But the doctor said –,"

"I don't care what that inadequate excuse for a physician told you. We are partners, Molly. And if your body isn't ready to carry a child, then we will find another way. _Together_."

She turns her head to look at him, and he is bowled over by the regret he sees in her eyes. He wants to make it better, to kiss away her pain. She is on the verge of tears, and he knows he is not far behind. He strokes her hair, waiting for her to calm down enough to speak.

"So you aren't mad?" she asks timidly. He gives her a bittersweet smile that does not quite reach his eyes, kissing her tenderly before pulling away to gaze into her brown eyes.

"Of course I'm not mad. Disappointed, maybe, but we have other options. We have not been able to conceive naturally or with those horrid drugs the doctor insisted we try. Perhaps we should consider adoption. We discussed that last time, remember?"

She nods up at him, looking down at their intertwined hands, holding onto the phantom child that continues to elude them. She closes her eyes and snuggles into his embrace. He squeezes her in response, wanting to be as close to the woman he loves as possible.

They lay there for a long time, wordlessly consoling each other, until Molly breaks the silence. "We're going to be okay, aren't we, Sherlock?"

"Of course we are, Molly. We're going to be fine."

* * *

**What did you think? Let me know! I love hearing everyone's thoughts!**

**Because one reviewer pointed it out, I would like to mention that the title of this story, "Complements" is in fact spelled correctly. A compliment is something nice you say to someone else (for instance, I adore all of you for following, favoriting, and reviewing!). A complement is something that completes or matches with another. (In my mind, Sherlock and Molly are 'complements'.) I hope that clears up any confusion.**

**On a sadder note, this will probably be my last update on this collection for a while, as I am currently preoccupied with school. I am, however, writing a longer one-shot that will be posted separately, so I would be overjoyed if you guys would read that once it is posted. **


	19. Chapter 19: Self-defense

**What's this? An update?! I'm probably even more shocked than you are. :) One word prompt: self-defense. Because I still love a Molly who doesn't need a man to protect her.**

* * *

Molly has just put on her pajamas and is climbing into her bed, when a scraping sound catches her attention. She tenses up and listens carefully, trying to determine the source, when the creak of her front door alerts her to another presence in her flat.

Her first instinct is to call Sherlock, but he has been out of London for the past week with John, investigating a particularly intriguing case. (_"A possible ten, Molly! Can you believe the luck?!"_)

She clasps her hands and says a small prayer of thanks that Sherlock had decided to give her self-defense lessons. Molly had been kidnapped on a smuggling case gone wrong, and, although the experience led to Sherlock finally admitting his feelings for her, they both wanted to avoid any future incidents.

She creeps down the hall, grateful that she still wears her socks, as they allow her to traverse the distance to her sitting room without making any noise. She peers around the corner and nearly gasps aloud at the sight of a dark blob traipsing around the room. Clenching her fists to gather her strength, she stalks into the room, hoping to corner the intruder.

Reaching to her left, she grabs the closest object she can find, which happens to be her well-worn, hardcover copy of Pride and Prejudice. _Oh well_, she thinks miserably. _I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy._

Letting out a shout, she flings the novel across the room, internally patting herself on the back when it hits the target. Suddenly, the black mass begins striding towards her, arms spread out as though to restrain her. _Maybe that wasn't the best idea I've ever had._

Not wanting to go down without a fight, Molly runs forward, jabbing the man in the stomach with a well-aimed punch, quickly following that with a swift kick to the shin. The man hunches over, and Molly brings her knee up, preparing for her final strike. A groan from her would-be attacker, however, distracts her.

_I know that groan_, she realizes. In fact, she had heard it several times the last time she and Sherlock had….

_Oh._ She cringes, putting her foot on the floor and rushing over to turn on the light. Her boyfriend breathes heavily, clutching at his midsection. She tiptoes over to him, carefully rubbing soothing circles into his back.

When he regains the ability to move, she helps him to sit on her sofa and hurries into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He takes it from her appreciatively and gulps down the liquid as he continues to catch his breath. Molly tries not to take it personally that he still has not looked at her. She _has_ just beat up the man she loves.

Finally, after what feels like hours to Molly (logically, she knows it is no more than ten minutes), he raises his head and stares at her with an expression of awe. Thoroughly confused now, her puzzlement must show on her face because he chuckles quietly to himself before speaking. "Well done, Molly. The lessons have paid off, I see. I am extremely impressed. At least now I won't have to worry about you so much while I'm away."

Molly lowers her eyes sheepishly, embarrassed by her mistake. He cups her face in his hands and gently presses his lips to hers. She wraps her arms around his neck and returns the kiss, equal parts relieved at her intruder's identity and glad to have him home after being apart for so long.

She is the first to pull away. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Sherlock."

"It's quite all right. I should have announced my presence, but I wanted to surprise you. I succeeded in that, at least." She giggles at that, bringing a smile to his face as well. He kisses her temple and lies back on the sofa, closing his eyes. "Although the next time you think someone is breaking into your flat, please call either myself or Lestrade. Use what I have taught you only if you have no other choice. I couldn't bear it if you were hurt."

He momentarily opens one eye, patting the seat beside him. She crawls over and snuggles into him, resting her head on his chest. She lets out a sigh of contentment before drifting off to sleep in the protective embrace of her consulting detective.

* * *

**Please leave me review to let me know your thoughts! They really do make writing these silly little drabbles more fun!**

**On another note, I wrote another one-shot titled, "Somewhere", which you can find on my profile. If you haven't read it yet, I would really love to get your feedback on it! (Note: it is sad, and not my usual fluff.)**

**Finally, thank you all for being patient and leaving such wonderful comments on the last chapter! I will try to post when I can, but new updates will likely be few and far between!**


	20. Chapter 20: Photos

**This is a prompt fill for the lovely MorbidbyDefault! She sent me this a while ago, and I'm just now getting the time to fill it. One word prompt was: Photos. This story is actually mostly JohnxMary, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! I am filling several prompts on Tumblr today, so you may be getting more updates than usual! Warning: Extreme fluff ahead!**

* * *

It was nearly a month after their wedding that Mary and John Watson were finally able to look through their wedding photos. There were the traditional pictures, of course: the wedding party lined up all in their matching formal wear, with the blissful newlyweds clutching each other in the center. John's personal favorite was of him and Mary sharing their first dance, oblivious to everything but each other. John smiled as he recalled the way her eyes had sparkled up at him, filled with the promise of many happy years in the future. He reached over and pulled his wife into his side so that her blond head rested on his shoulder. He could get used to this, he thought contentedly.

As they flipped through the photos, however, John noticed one guest did not look pleased to be in attendance. Every shot of Sherlock Holmes showed the detective frowning, or lost in thought, clearly not enjoying the festivities. John sighed. It really shouldn't have surprised him.

"What is it, dear?" Mary asked him, concern drawing her brows together. He pointed to the photograph he was holding. Sherlock stood alone at the bar, nursing a Scotch and scowling at something off camera. Mary placed a hand on his chest, attempting to soothe him, and pulled out of his embrace to pick up a different photo. She handed it to him and snuggled back into his side. "Maybe you should see this one."

The picture in question was taken during their wedding reception, probably after the newlywed couple had left for the evening because John could not remember seeing this particular scene. Sherlock had abandoned his position at the bar and was twirling a giggling Molly Hooper in his arms. Sherlock was laughing as well, and his eyes were glued to the lovely pathologist. Both were unaware that they were being photographed, caught up in the music and the moment. It was the happiest that John had ever seen his best friend.

A small smile formed on his mouth as he examined the photo. He looked over at Mary and reflected on how lucky he was that she had chosen him. He tipped her chin back with his free hand and placed a gentle kiss to her lips. "I love you, Mrs. Watson."

"I love you, too, Mr. Watson." The photo was forgotten as the couple became lost in each other.


	21. Chapter 21: Invitation

**_What?!_****_Two updates in one day?! _****I know, it's crazy. I wanted to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story so far!**

**This is a prompt fill for ceaselesslyinlove on Tumblr. And also for xAppleDownx who requested more Teenlock. I hope you all like this. Basically, I think awkward, teenage Sherlock is one of my favorite things to write.**

* * *

Sherlock stared across the hall at his lab partner, Molly Hooper, breathing in and out to calm his nerves. He felt a rough shove from behind him and stumbled out from the corner in which he'd been hiding, twisting around momentarily to glare at his best friend, John Watson.

"Just do it!" the blond boy hissed, waving his hands to urge Sherlock forward. Sherlock turned and smoothed down his button-up. He wanted this to go perfectly, after all.

Molly was rifling through her locker when he walked up, but she looked around when she heard him approach. "Sherlock! Hello!" Molly beamed up at him, and Sherlock's breathing hitched. _Focus. Act cool._

He tousled his dark curls with his hand and shifted his elbow so that he could lean on the locker adjacent to Molly's. (He had seen John do the same thing whilst talking to his current girlfriend.) Unfortunately, the boy had misjudged the distance between his body and the locker and lurched over as his arm met empty air.

Molly stifled a giggle behind her hand and reached out to help him regain his balance. "Are you all right?"

He nodded brusquely and straightened himself up. "Molly, I…. I was wondering whether anyone had asked you to attend the prom next week." His gaze traveled over to John, who was laughing behind Molly's back. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him before turning his attention back to Molly with a smile on his face.

She shuffled her feet nervously, twisting her hands together as she stared at him. "Yes, actually. Andrew Jones asked me yesterday."

"Oh. That's good, then." Sherlock's smile fell from his face, replaced with a nonchalant expression that did not conceal his obvious disappointment.

He moved to leave when Molly's hand hesitantly touched his arm. Sherlock's skin burned at the contact. He gulped, hoping that his face was not as red as he imagined it was. He reluctantly met her eyes, gazing into her beautiful brown orbs.

"I… ummm…. I told him no," she said, biting her lip as she gauged his reaction.

Sherlock felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. He fought back a grin. "Really?!" He cleared his throat and continued, concentrating on deepening his voice. _Girls liked that, right?_ "I-I mean… why?"

She smiled, her entire face glowing with the gesture. "Obviously, I didn't want to go with him."

Sherlock could not contain his grin any longer. "Obviously." The pair was silent for a moment as Sherlock gathered his thoughts. "Would you like to go with me, then?"

Molly stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. "Of course, silly! I was wondering when you were going to ask!" With that, Molly slammed her locker shut and headed in the direction of her next class. At the end of the hall, however, she turned around and waved at him, smiling brilliantly the whole time.

Sherlock walked back over to where his friend was standing, touching the spot where the petite girl had kissed him. John clapped him on the back, smirking from ear to ear. "Good on you, mate. I wasn't sure if you had it in you."

Sherlock merely shook his head, still dazed by the events, as they walked down the hall to their English class.

* * *

**Don't forget to review! **


	22. Chapter 22: Overreact

**Prompt fill for an Anon on Tumblr. I hope you like it! (On a side note, if you haven't noticed already, I have a head canon that John and Mary ship Sherlolly.** **No one will ever convince me otherwise.)**

* * *

Sherlock ran, faster than he had in his entire life. A simple text from John Watson, and his heart had stopped. Fear gripped him so tightly that he was surprised to still be breathing.

_Molly hurt. Currently at St. Bart' come quickly. –JW_

After Sherlock's faked death and return to the living, his relationship with Molly had blossomed. It was by no means _romantic. _Sherlock had scoffed at the idea when John mentioned it, but he did share a mutual respect with the woman that had been lacking previously (on his part, at least).

The thought that Molly could be hurt, or worse,_dying_, struck Sherlock deep within his soul. He did not comprehend exactly why he was so anxious to reach her, ensure that she was safe, but he knew that he needed to see her as soon as possible.

He rushed through the doors of the hospital, striding up to the woman at the front desk and demanding to know where his pathologist was being kept. The woman, hands clutched to her chest in fear, stuttered out a room number before he stalked off without so much as a thank you. Sherlock did not hear her affronted shout as the lift doors shut behind him.

Finally reaching the correct floor of the hospital, Sherlock rushed out, practically running down the hall in his haste to find Molly. He stopped as he located the room. The door was slightly ajar, and he could just make out the muffled sound of voices.

"You're certain you're all right, Molly?" Sherlock heard his flat mate ask, John's tone laced with concern.

"Yes! Like I said before, it's just a minor sprain! I should be fine in a few weeks!" Molly's exasperated voice drifted into the hall where Sherlock was standing, and he let out a breath. At least she was going to be okay. He waited for a moment, willing his heart to stop pounding so furiously, and pushed on the door.

It sprang open to reveal the figure of Molly Hooper sitting on a white (severely uncomfortable-looking) hospital bed, her wrist wrapped in a bandage. She jumped at the sound of the door hitting the wall but relaxed when she saw Sherlock standing in the doorway. She gave him a small, tired smile which he returned with a tight-lipped one of his own.

"I trust you are well, Molly," Sherlock began, trying to ignore the way his chest clenched at the sight of Molly's warm smile, directed exclusively at him.

"Well, yes, but… why are you here, Sherlock? I thought you were out on an important case. A nine, I believe you said?" She tipped her head to the side, observing his tense posture.

"I…. Well, John said…." He glared over at his blogger, who was snickering quietly to himself. His text message had been intentionally misleading, then. Obviously, a scheme to force him to confront his feelings. "Never mind, Molly. I needed to speak with John."

Molly gave him a knowing smile as he led his flat mate out of her room, closing the door behind him.

"See? I knew you liked her!" John clapped him on the shoulder, grinning up at his friend. "Why won't you just admit you have feelings for little Molly Hooper?"

"Pssh, that's ridiculous, John. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

Sherlock reentered Molly's room and walked up to the pathologist. "Molly, can you leave this vile place yet, or do they need to run more tests on you?"

"Oh, no, I'm free to go!" She bounded up off the bed and reached for her bag, but Sherlock had already grabbed it.

"Excellent! Coffee?"

"W-what?!" Molly stammered, staring up at the consulting detective.

"Really, Molly, I thought you had injured your wrist, not your head. Would you like to have coffee?"

"Oh! Sure!" She beamed up at him and followed him down the hall, both oblivious to John Watson, who was observing their exchange closely. He smirked when he saw Molly slip her hand into Sherlock's much larger one. He watched as the couple conversed animatedly until they turned a corner and he could no longer see them.

John whistled to himself as he turned in the other direction and started towards the lifts. Oh did he have a story for Mary tonight.


	23. Chapter 23: Brothers

**This is a prompt fill for the lovely SammyKatz. I tweaked it just a bit, I hope you don't mind. This one gave me a lot of Holmes brother feelings.**

* * *

Sherlock and Molly were huddled together in companionable silence, studying a specimen on the detective's favorite microscope, when the door to the lab burst open. The pair leapt apart, their cheeks a matching shade of rosy pink.

Sherlock scowled when he noticed who had interrupted them. Mycroft Holmes meandered into the lab, his umbrella swinging casually by his side. His eyebrow rose as he took in their flushed faces and guilty expressions. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked his brother, triumph evident in his eyes.

"Of course not, Mycroft. Dr. Hooper and I were just finishing up an experiment." He quickly gathered his belongings, looking everywhere but at the blushing pathologist.

Mycroft turned his attention to Molly as Sherlock composed himself. "Dr. Hooper, I trust you have been well?"

Sherlock glanced up in surprise. Normally the elder Holmes did not concern himself with social niceties, at least when he had more pressing matters. If he had come to collect Sherlock personally, then this must be very urgent, indeed. The consulting detective narrowed his eyes, observing the interaction between the other two. The only other time he had seen them together had been on that awful Christmas when he supposedly identified the Woman's body. Sherlock cringed at the memory. He knew that Mycroft and Molly had formed a bond of sorts after his faked suicide but had not had the opportunity to examine it for himself.

"I've been wonderful, Mycroft. Thank you for asking!" She gave him a sunny smile, one that made Sherlock's heart stutter even if it was not directed at him. Mycroft's mouth lifted into a tight smile in response, and the government official tugged uncomfortably at his collar. That was odd. Mycroft seemed almost… nervous.

"Yes, well…." Mycroft cleared his throat and turned to his brother. "Sherlock, we really must speak. In private."

"Of course. Molly." He tipped his head in her direction, winking at her, and was rewarded by an increased reddening in her cheeks. He followed Mycroft out the door and into a deserted corner, far from prying eyes.

"What is this about, Mycroft? It must be important, or you would not have sought me out."

"It is about your relationship with Dr. Hooper."

"Oh for…! Really, Mycroft, this is none of your c –"

"Hush, Sherlock, and let me finish." Hearing the seriousness in Mycroft's tone, Sherlock nodded in agreement. Mycroft continued. "Since we were young, Father ingrained into our brains that caring was not an advantage. He taught us to abandon sentiment in favor of logic and reason. We both have certainly taken his lessons to heart." He paused, letting his words sink in. Sherlock merely stared at his elder brother, sensing that he was not finished.

"Recent events, however, have led me to a different conclusion. If you care for Molly, _and I know you do_," he added at the denial on Sherlock's face, "you should tell her immediately. Otherwise, she will find someone else who makes her happy, and it will be too late. Believe me when I tell you that there is no worse feeling than knowing that the person you love is in love with someone else."

"What did you just say?"

"You should tell Dr. Hooper how you feel –"

"No, you said if I care for _Molly. _I didn't realize the two of you were on first name terms." Mycroft shifted uneasily under his brother's scrutiny. "Ah. Of course. Stupid! _You_ are in love with Molly."

Mycroft refused to meet his gaze. Instead, he fiddled with the handle of his ever-present umbrella. Finally, he lifted his head to look at Sherlock. The pain in Mycroft's eyes shook Sherlock to his very core.

"Sherlock, I know it is terrifying to let someone else get close to you, to completely trust another person with that part of yourself. There are very few people I would deem worthy of my little brother's affections, and Molly heads the list. _Please_. Tell her how you feel. You will deeply regret it if you do not."

Sherlock's eyes drifted back toward the lab, where he knew Molly still resided. In an uncharacteristic show of fraternal affection, he grabbed Mycroft's hand and squeezed. He let go and started to walk back to Molly, stopping when his brother spoke again.

"And Sherlock?" The detective looked over his shoulder. "If you hurt her…." Mycroft left the sentence unfinished, but Sherlock understood his meaning.

"Thank you," he murmured, glancing once last time at his brother before returning to the lab to give in to the emotions he had repressed for far too long.

* * *

**Poor Mycroft! Please leave a review! I love to hear your thoughts!**


	24. Chapter 24: Scarred

**Just a short, fluffy one-shot based on a Tumblr prompt. I hope you enjoy it, as I rather like this one. Also, thank you again to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed! You make me eager to write more.**

**On another note, self promotion time! I have started a multi-chapter story titled ****_All In_****, and I would love for you to check it out if you haven't already. :)**

* * *

Molly rushed into 221B, frantically searching for her husband. She had been out of the country at a pathology conference when she had received a call from John Watson, detailing the aftermath of Sherlock's latest case. He assured her that the detective would be fine, but that Sherlock needed her, even if he would not admit so out loud. She had left the conference in the middle of the keynote address, hurrying to the airport where Mycroft had a plane waiting to bring her back to London.

She found Sherlock huddled in a chair by the window, knees drawn up to his chest as he observed the people on the street below. She quietly walked over to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. His hand came up to cover hers, but he did not turn around to look at her. His feet fell to the floor, his body curling slightly into her touch. She stepped around the chair, stifling her gasp when she gazed upon his face.

A bandage covered the left side of his face, concealing the majority of the deep cut that marred his skin. According to John, the detective would be scarred permanently, the image in the mirror a constant reminder that he had almost failed. He had nearly let a murderer escape. Molly's heart ached as she stared at her husband.

"Sherlock…" she started, unsure how to proceed. She understood his vanity and the high significance he placed on his appearance, but did not know how to console him.

"Molly, please go. I do not wish for you to see me like this."

"Love, it really isn't that bad. Here, let me –"

"No!" He pulled away from her, shifting away from the tenderness in her eyes. "I am hideous! How could anyone love someone like me? How could _you_?" His voice broke on the last syllable, betraying his fear of being abandoned once again.

She sank down, kneeling between his legs, and gripped his face in her hands, twisting his head towards her. "Sherlock! Sherlock, look at me. I love _you_. All of you, from your magnificent brain to your childish antics. It makes no matter to me what you look like."

"Really?" She saw the hope in his eyes and smiled at him.

"Of course, Sherlock. Did you honestly think I would throw away seven years of my life because of one little scar? I'm a bit offended you think so little of me."

He laughed, and Molly's heart warmed at the sound. "You deserve so much better, Molly. Whatever did I do to be worthy of your affections?"

"You aren't. But, lucky for you, I fell in love with you and not some other bloke. So can you please stop brooding, thinking I am going to leave you?"

His brilliant smile lit up the dark room, and he leaned forward to kiss her. He poured all of his feelings and insecurities into that simple brush of lips, and Molly reciprocated whole-heartedly. The couple lost themselves in each other for a moment, relishing the comfort and security they found there. When they finally parted, both were breathing heavily, and Molly recognized the hungry look in her husband's eyes. She gave him a seductive smile of her own, standing up and pulling him towards the bedroom.

"Besides, I've always had a thing for a man with battle scars."

* * *

**Review?**


	25. Chapter 25: Christmas

**This was a prompt fill for an Anon on Tumblr. I had hoped to have it finished by Christmas, but, alas, life does not always go the way you want it to. Either way, I hope you all enjoy this one. It starts out a little sad, but ends with a fluff overload. :)**

* * *

Molly was bundled snugly in her bed, Toby curled up at her feet. Sleep had been evading her for hours. Yesterday had been a particularly gruelling day at the morgue, despite the fact that it was Christmas Eve.

Molly had been nearly brought to tears as she autopsied a young couple and their newborn infant. They were travelling to celebrate the holidays with the woman's family when their car had tragically overturned due to icy road conditions. Molly had attempted to comfort their grieving loved ones as best as she could but knew her efforts were futile. No amount of hollow euphemisms would bring the family back.

Instead, she had watched, unable to help, as two families embraced each other, seeking solace in their shared anguish.

It was just as well, really. Molly hadn't really celebrated the holiday since her father's death ten years prior. Christmas was always Richard Hooper's favourite holiday. Her brain conjured up memories of happier times spent opening presents in front of the fireplace.

Then, of course, there was the disaster that was the Christmas party at 221B Baker Street. She had so naively bared her heart to Sherlock only to have him rip it to shreds.

No, she was definitely not in the Christmas spirit this year.

A thud from her sitting room drew Molly's attention, and she sat up quickly, upending the sleepy tabby beside her. He hissed and scampered off to the corner. She left him there, grooming himself, as she went to investigate.

Creeping into her front room, she immediately recognized the mop of curly black hair. Sherlock was kneeling beside her Christmas tree.

It was a long-standing tradition in the Hooper household to decorate the tree the week before Christmas. It had always been her dad's favourite part of the holidays. This year, however, Molly had carried out the ritual more in obligation to her parents' memories than excessive holiday cheer.

Sherlock was hunched over what appeared to be a cardboard box, although it was partially obscured from her sight by his lean form.

She let out a breath in relief. Perhaps he needed her help with an experiment. Why he felt the desire to barge into her flat at six in the morning on Christmas day, however, remained to be seen. The sun hadn't even made its appearance, yet.

Sherlock's shoulders straightened at her drawn-out sigh, and he twisted his head around to look at her. Taking in her tired eyes and irritated expression, he stood up slowly, shifting slightly to ensure the mysterious box behind him stayed hidden.

"Ah, Molly! Merry Christmas!" he said, eyes lighting up as he clapped his hands together.

"Merry Christmas, Sher…." Her voice drifted off as she noticed his attire, and she stifled a laugh. He wore a bright red jumper, decorated with a cheery, ruddy-faced Santa. Her gaze travelled over the ridiculous item of clothing and stopped on his face. He wore a sheepish smile.

She had given him that jumper as a gift three years ago. It was meant as a gag, something silly to make him laugh. No one had been laughing later that night. Certainly not poor, humiliated Molly Hooper.

She had believed he hadn't opened it, too distracted by the mystery of the woman he had identified by… not her face.

Sometime in the interim between that Christmas and this one, however, he must have unearthed the present and finally found the time to unwrap it.

He squirmed under her scrutiny but did not break eye contact. "I will admit it's not my typical style, but I have grown rather fond of it." He spread his arms out and spun in a circle, showing off the garment. She rewarded him with a genuine smile, her irritation at his having surprised her so early momentarily forgotten.

"It looks good on you, Sherlock," she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to curb her laughter. Judging by the glee in his eyes (_more green than blue today_, she noted), he was enjoying her amusement.

A faint yelp sounded from behind his back, drawing Molly's attention away from Sherlock. He grimaced as she scurried over, pushing him aside as she stooped beside the box.

Several holes were punched into the sides, and the box shook slightly as she pulled on the flaps to open it. She squealed in delight as light from the Christmas tree flooded into the cramped space. What she saw inside melted her heart.

A fluffy bundle of white and brown fur sat on its haunches, trembling as it stared up at Molly. Fur fell over its black eyes and tiny black button nose. It let out several high-pitched barks as they observed each other.

It was undoubtedly one of the most adorable creatures Molly had ever seen.

She reached her hand into the puppy's temporary home and began stroking its back gently, feeling its soft fur caress her fingertips. The barking ceased as her movements continued. Sensing that this stranger meant no harm, the puppy closed its eyes, arching into her touch and yawning in contentment. It stretched and twisted its head around to lap at her, its bright pink tongue tentatively licking her palm. Molly giggled happily at the feel of its rough tongue on her skin.

Molly picked the puppy up with one hand (it really was a tiny little thing) and pushed herself up with the other. Once she was standing again, she turned to Sherlock with the dog cuddled into her chest.

Sherlock's gaze was locked on her face, observing her reaction. His eyes flicked briefly to the puppy as another noise erupted from its mouth.

"He is a Shih Tzu. The name is derived from the Chinese word for –"

"Lion dog," Molly interrupted him. "I know. I had one when I was younger. He looked almost exactly like this one. How did you know?"

Sherlock chose not to answer. He merely lifted an eyebrow as if to say, "Honestly, Molly?" She chuckled at his haughty expression before gazing back down at the bundle of fluff cradled in her arms.

"I was out on a case with John when we stumbled upon him. I attempted to track down his owners but was unable to do so. Their flat was recently vacated, and they did not leave any contact information. I remembered you mentioned you had a brown and white Shih Tzu when you were younger. I immediately thought that, perhaps, he could act as an adequate gift for you. He has been taking up residence in 221B for the past week."

Sherlock had approached her as he spoke, so he was now within distance to pet the puppy. Sherlock rubbed him behind his ears, and the puppy stuck out his tongue in pure bliss.

"He will act as a much better guard than your insufferable feline. He has been trained to bark when unsavoury individuals approach. Can your cat do that? I highly doubt it."

"_Toby_ does an excellent job of attacking when he senses I am in danger. Or have you forgotten the scratches you received when you visited the first time?"

"That proves my point exactly, Molly. I am not a threat. Toby cannot tell between friend and foe. He can," he finished, gesturing to the dog.

They silently lavished attention on the puppy, which clearly enjoyed it. Finally, Sherlock removed his hand from the puppy's face and looked at Molly.

"Do you like him?" Molly couldn't remember a time when she had seen Sherlock Holmes_nervous,_ but she definitely heard apprehension in his voice now.

"I love him, Sherlock! Does he have a name?"

"I was thinking we could call him Richard. Richie, for a nickname." Molly's head flew up to look up at the detective, surprise evident in her expression. She could not hold back the tears welling up in her eyes.

Molly gently returned the puppy to his box before rushing to Sherlock and wrapping her arms around him. She squeezed him tightly, relishing the feel as his arms encircled her as well. They clung to each other for a long time, two lonely people finally discovering that they needed each other.

"It's perfect. Thank you, Sherlock," she whispered as she pulled back slightly, though still ensconced protectively in his embrace.

XXXXX

Two hours later, the sun was just peeking through the windows, shining on Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes, whose attentions were captured by the sight before them.

At some point, Toby had wandered from his hiding place in Molly's bedroom, presumably to investigate the noises coming from the front of the flat. Richie, who was turning out to be quite the curious puppy, had run over to the flummoxed feline, sniffing inquisitively for a moment before nuzzling the cat and licking his fur. Toby had jumped back at the contact, as expected, and was currently scampering around the flat in circles, trying to escape the dog. Richie, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content chasing an affronted Toby.

Molly and Sherlock watched with glee from their position on the sofa, Sherlock's arm still draped casually over Molly's shoulders. Her head in turn, lay in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"Not that I'm not thrilled, or anything, but why do this? Taking care of a puppy and giving it as a Christmas gift, I mean. It's not exactly what one would expect from the world's only consulting detective."

"I haven't had the opportunity to thank you properly for everything you have done for me. Helping me in the lab, giving me spare body parts, assisting me in defeating Moriarty. And, I know that this is always a difficult time of year for you. I understand I am partially to blame for that, Molly, so I consider it my responsibility to ensure that this Christmas is a happy one."

"Well, you have certainly outdone yourself. This may be the best Christmas I've ever had, Sherlock."

"I believe this is my favourite Christmas, as well. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek, his lips lingering near her skin longer than necessary. Her breath hitched as she turned slightly to look at him.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes," she replied, before closing the gap and meeting his lips with hers.

* * *

**What did you think? Please let me know! **

**P.S. If anyone wants to see a picture of the puppy referenced in this ficlet, you can find it on my Tumblr (URL: onceinabluemoon13) or PM me and I can send you a link to the original page where I found it.**


End file.
